Burn
by A.j
Summary: Claire gets her turn at dreaming and remembering... madness. DC


Spoilers: Well, you kinda need to know what happened in "Germ Theory"   
and Ur.. the one where Claire and Darien attempted monkey-luv under the tarps.  
With the D/C shippiness. Actually, this could TECHNICALLY be an original   
story... kinda.  
Archival: Go ahead! Take! Take! Take!  
  
Anyway...  
  
Notes: Okay, okay, so I'm unable to title with anything but a 'B'   
word. I'm consistent, at least, right? ;) Again, this is D/C, but   
only in a VERY VERY strange way. It really didn't turn out like I   
thought it would, but when does a story ever?  
  
***  
  
Burn  
by A.j.  
  
***  
  
I woke with the taste of him on my tongue and the feel of his hand on   
my belly.  
  
But when I opened my eyes both were gone, leaving me with nothing but   
images both imagined and real. And as I opened my eyes to the harsh   
brightness of the morning sun, another piece of my fractured heart   
cracked.  
  
The loss of his hands was so acute, it was physical. My breath caught   
at it, my eyes wide and unseeing.  
  
It had been warm there, in my dream world. Wonderfully, gloriously   
*warm*. Fingers alternating between supple and course, protectively   
cupped my abdomen. His heat cradled me, drawing me into that deep  
private place existing only between lovers.  
  
I never knew my mind could be so vivid. Or have such dramatic recall.  
  
The dreams don't come often. If they did, it's doubtful I would remain   
sane. Sane. What irony.  
  
Madness. Great folly. The loss of inhibitions. The way of the damned.   
So many descriptions for an exact definition. The phrase is used so   
loosely. "I must be mad for having done that..."  
  
God, how true. How incredibly, tragically true.  
  
I never realized, before, how incredibly restrained I am. I guess I   
never thought about it. I followed my little routines but played when   
I felt I needed to. I never even sensed that I was missing anything. I   
was content.  
  
Complacency is the root of all ills. I'd heard that before. I'd just   
never believed it.  
  
Free. That's the only way to describe it. The madness. Complete and   
utter freedom from everything. Contention of thought, action, and   
movement. Twice in this life, I have tasted it. The sheer dizzying   
glory of falling and knowing there is nothing below to catch you. And   
both times, HE has been at the center. A focus. A magnate.  
  
And both times, he's been there to catch me when I finally hit the   
ground.  
  
How strange it is to know that someone will be there for you, even as   
he is falling. Strange but so amazingly peaceful. What a dichotomy. So   
threatened but so safe. And safety... What a rare commodity.  
  
But that is what he's always offered me. Even now when we can't quite   
look each other in the eye, he hands it out. Safety from myself.   
Shielding from the yearning that our lives can't grant us fulfillment   
to.  
  
Oh, I know. How can I not? It is there, that knowledge that if given   
the chance we would both jump. Fly again in that heady gravity of our   
madness. For it is addictive, you see. So incredibly strong. And I   
know now... Oh, god do I know, he craves the loss of control just as   
he mourns it.  
  
Rationality, sanity... both are the reality we are born to. His were   
taken away through the most brutal of choices. Trust yourself and your   
ability to survive, or trust your brother and his ability to care for   
you. Bless him for trusting, for reaching. And damn Kevin for failing.  
  
Damn me for perpetuating the chain.  
  
My own leaps into the unknown were both of my own fault and creation.   
I stripped myself of that coating, and now I must live with the   
consequences. This realization does not make my burden lighter, nor   
his less important. We are just different, as man and woman have been   
since the beginning of time.  
  
I am an Eve to his Adam. I chose, he followed.  
  
And now, we are both exiled from our garden. Sent to wander the   
desolate planes of our worlds, we come only occasionally upon spots of   
color; of cliffs from which to dive.  
  
I envy him his ability to let go. And his ability to hang on. Given   
the chance... the choice... I would run. I would fly. I would fall.  
  
Because he would catch me.  
  
So all I have are these dreams. These interruptions in my sanity.   
Times when I can fall and be caught without repercussion or pain, and   
when he can fly with me high into the sun.  
  
He is Icarus, I Daedlus. Both obsessed with release and drawn so   
dangerously towards the fire. Alone we will perish, but together...   
Together we will burn.  
  
So I lie here, shaking with need and desire, feeling what is left of   
my cracked heart break, his taste on my tongue, and pray for both the   
strength to hold on... and let go.  
  
-fin- 


End file.
